Tumblr Downton Drabbles: Two by Two
by altenprano
Summary: A collection of drabble prompts from my tumblr.
1. Flowers

**A/N: So I've been working on a series of drabble prompts submitted to me via tumblr, and I'm going to post them here.**

**This first one is requested by revfrog**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_**

**_Prompt: _Baxley, flowers**

* * *

"Um...Mrs. Baxter?"

She looks up from the lace she is mending, the needle clutched between thumb and forefinger of one hand, and the lace draped gently over the curved fingers of the other. A kind smile opens instantly across her lips. "Yes?" she answers, her hands going still, suspended mid-stitch and as still as if made of stone.

He swallows, though not too hard, lest the words that he's spent the last hour practicing like an actor waiting to go on stage disappear down his throat. His thumb runs along the stems of the flowers, which he holds out of Mrs. Baxter's sight, in hopes that he might surprise her.

"Well I was wondering…I thought you might like…"

God damn him and his schoolboy shyness! Why does he struggle to articulate the affection he feels for the woman who sits before him, her quick, careful fingers holding a needle and thread as if it is light as a feather? They are both adults, no younger than forty-two, both of them, yet there he is, struggling to tell her a simple thing or even keep from turning bright red under her large, kind eyes.

"What might I like?" she asks, setting the lace down and placing the needle beside it. She watches him with a patience he equates with a mother waiting for her child to take its first steps, her eyes encouraging him to speak.

_Come on you old fool, _he thinks, swallowing again. _It's now or never, and you haven't all day. _

"I thought you might like these." He holds the small bouquet up and offers it to her, the butterflies in his stomach leaping about, nervous as ever. "They're from my father's garden, nothing like old lady Grantham's, I know, but-"

"They're absolutely lovely," Mrs. Baxter exclaims, her dark eyes lighting up, and she stands to accept his gift, bringing the bundle of petals and stems to her face and inhaling their scent. "Thank you Mr. Molesley. It's very considerate of you, to think of me."

_I think of you all the time, _he wants to say, and his success almost makes him bold enough to do so, but he catches himself before he can ruin the sweet taste of his small victory.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Baxter," is all he says before making a quick exit, his heart pounding merrily in his chest and the lady's maid no doubt watching him as the prince watched Cinderella flee the ball at the first stroke of midnight, confused by the sudden disappearance of the first footman.


	2. Expectations

**A/N: So here's drabble #2, requested by silhouettedswallow on tumblr.**

_**Prompt:**_** Mrs. Hughes &amp; Tom Branson, expectations **

* * *

They both watch Edna leave Mrs. Hughes's sitting room, Mrs. Hughes waiting for her heartbeat to slow to a placid walk after having lept into a furious gallop at having to confront Edna, and Tom still reeling from having borne witness to the confrontation between the housekeeper and lady's maid.

"Well I'm glad to have gotten that over and done with," the housekeeper remarks, wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress, as if to rid them of accumulated sweat. "I can't say I'm sad to see her go, not after all the trouble she's caused this house."

Tom only nods, trying to wrap his mind around Mrs. Hughes's display just now, the escalation of her anger from simmering to full-on boiling, though perhaps comparing her to a pot of soup was not something he ought to be doing. It had been ingenious, her plan. The book, the threat of Dr. Clarkson, everything.

"Th-thank you," he manages to say, overcoming his dumbfounded state and doing everything in his power not to wipe his hands on his trousers, for surely the nervous sweat that had built up as he stood quietly and let Mrs. Hughes help him would leave a noticeable stain on the fabric.

She waves him off. "It's no trouble, not any more than _she _was, anyway," she says, rolling her eyes. "Though I don't expect Her Ladyship will be happy to hear she's to be without a lady's maid until I can find someone we both agree is a suitable candidate, preferably someone Mr. Barrow can't get to wreak his havoc for him."

At this, Tom can't help but laugh, if only a little. "I'm sure you'll find someone, Mrs. Hughes."

"I suspect I'll have to, unless I want Anna to wear herself down completely." The housekeeper's expression seems to become more solemn at the mention of Anna, her brows drawing together in concern and her lips setting themselves in a pensive, worrying line, but the housekeeper catches herself before she can slip too deep into the shadows that have just cleared from her expression.

At first Tom is confused at why she slips into this mood so suddenly, and then he recalls having heard about Anna's horrible fall the night of the concert, as well as how much like a daughter the lady's maid was to Mrs. Hughes. It was only natural, then, to expect Mrs. Hughes to worry over the woman as if she truly were her daughter, and the Lord knew Tom would do the same for Sybbie in a similar situation. She was worried, as mothers were for their daughters, and there was nothing more to it.

"Is Anna feeling better?" he asks, wondering if the pensive expression will return to the housekeeper's face. "I heard she took quite a fall…"

"She's doing better."

Tom can hear the unvoiced "_I hope_" in Mrs. Hughes's words, but he doesn't comment, instead, he bids Mrs. Hughes good evening and goes to dress himself for dinner after thanking her once more for all she's done to help him.


End file.
